Daily Lit Recognition for June 11th, 2014

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Daily Lit Recognition for June 11th, 2014

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Poetry

Featured by: AyeAye12

16I watched a plane cut across the bleeding sunrise that morning,
Its contrails made a distressingly straight line
That divided the enormity of the sky into slightly more comprehensible halves.
I'm 16 now.
Sitting in a restaurant with my friends
Eating expensive meals on our parents money.
Their sparkly laughter is flickering past me
Their chairs fill up and empty as they come and go and come and go.
Thirty minutes into the dinner, I wanted to go home
Because I realized I hadn't been speaking
And they didn't even expect me to.
But I let them sip my drinks and stay at my house later and bailed them out when the bill came
And that was enough.
When I got home, I watched headlights wink through the blanket of night,
They created white holes in the sky
That interrupted the unanimity of the dark.
Then I crawled into a single blanket on the mattress on my bedroom floor
Because my friends called dibs on the bed.

16 by jungle-slang



Sometimes on this site, you find a poet 
which really feels unique. A bit distant from 
the lit community, they continue to make 
some really special work. Za'adi has been on 
the site more as a photographer than a poet, 
but I can see a lot of a potential already 
on this account. '16' is a great symbolism-dashed take 
on growing up, friendship and life in general.




Featured by: betwixtthepages

:thumb244473719: FlightIt's a start (you tell me)—
—a bird, life lived in
an open cage
with wings clipped.
not nearly trapped, but
close enough.
The night creeps in
and the door slips shut; I'm ready
to fly away.
--
What can we do,
but sing
cacophonous: here,
there is a rattle of bars
and a crash of drums
in the darkness. Ringing high
and true, crisp in the nighttime frost
I shed my flight in the fall
so the winter might ravage me, raw.
The last few shreds of down flutter
to the cage floor,
and I am gone.
--
Cages and mirrors,
both are as lakes of ice:
These things are children of our own vanity.
The abyss is only as deep as we allow it;
The winter only as cold as we ourselves become.
Besides, what good is an invincible summer
without a bit frost from time to time:
little veins and veils of white,
settling down on the last mottled days of fall;
this child (of my vanity) will not be soon forgotten
in the bitter trailing edge of autumn's warmth.
It's better this way, in
fragmented doses—
—w

Flight by ungraciouspastor and leigh-kath


This seamless collaboration reminds readers 
that it's okay to fly away sometimes...so long as 
you remember to come back. 
Nothing is permanent--or invincible.





Prose

Suggested by: DailyBreadCafe

Featured by: Gingersanps

The Greatest Challenge    Now before I begin this ‘story’, dear reader, I feel the need to warn you about what we are about to dig into. I suggest you be extremely considerate towards the animal at hand, for she would attempt to attack if felt intimidated. Now that we got the introductions out of the way, take a close look at her beauty… more or less. The way her fringe is pulled back to keep a perfect view on her project, her brown eyes all glossy from the endless searching on the internets, and the way she is twirling the cap to her precious owl designed USB drive between her nimble fingers. Although she had taken a shower only a day ago, her hair is slightly oiled from her refusal to actually get up from her current ‘habitat’.
     Isn’t she something quite interesting? Although she isn’t too different from others her kind. Just like her, there are others who sit in front of their computers, tablets, phones, what have you, and

The Greatest Challenge by WrittenEdge



Suggester wrote: Haha, an interesting 
documentary-type take on a writer.




Featured by: Rose-Em

She's Running AwayShe sits in the corner of her pitch-black room in between the wings she once drew on her wall. She doesn’t deserve them but she’s hoping they’ll help her fly away. And she’s shaking. From anxiety. From panic. From the things hunting her in the dark.
She can’t get him out of her head. His arsenic lips. His sinner’s smile. His poisonous eyes. He’s haunting. And his memory is stalking her to madness.
If only she could kiss those stardust lips one more time.
The clock on the dresser is telling her it’s 3:29am in that bright green she’s learning to despise. Her brain is full of some-year-old cobwebs and she can’t fight her way through the dust. She’s sure this is what drowning would feel like.
She’s inking poems into her skin to remind her to smile. To remind her that she’s broken. To remind her how to breathe. But she’s tired of stitching the same exact pieces together every night. She’s tired of glui

She's Running Away by FallenAngelShi



It's amazing how much I care 
for these characters 
without knowing them for long.





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Prepared by: betwixtthepages

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Comments5
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leyghan's avatar
Great features all. :dalove: